


The Devil's Grace

by Sandaun



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-24 15:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3774472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandaun/pseuds/Sandaun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then everything crystallized.  The little girl in a dress was sprawled out on the ground, stunned, after being pushed down.  An overwhelming sense of copper, that unmistakable scent of blood, mixed with the scent of burning flesh where the bullet had entered but not exited the man laying over her, protecting the girl with his body.</p><p>“Foggy!”  Matt yelled, running to his friend and dropping to his knees. </p><p>Summary:  Foggy is shot.  Matt doesn't handle it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh come on, Matty, just this once.”

“No, I’m not doing it.  You can beg and bribe all you want.”

“What can it hurt?” Foggy dropped his voice to a whisper. “Use your super smell superpowers just this once?  Come on, man.  What’s the use of having a superhero as a best friend if he won’t use his superpowers for me?”

Matt laughed and shook his head, tapping his cane on the sidewalk as the two walked through the crowded city street.  Dressed in suits after a morning in court, the two approached a crosswalk and waited for the light to change.

“First off, I’m not a superhero.  Second, if you want to know if Karen got a cat, just ask her.”

“But, see, it’s a _challenge_.  A mystery to solve!” Foggy grinned, raising up his hands for effect, and then folded his arms across his chest.  “I told her that I hated cats so much that I could tell the moment she adopted one, she’d just _seem_ like a cat lady.  And now she keeps laughing at me and I don’t know if she’s doing it just to mess with me or if she adopted a cat and I haven’t noticed.”

“Wouldn’t it be cheating if I told you?”

“Uh, no, I’m just using all the resources at my disposal,” Foggy said, pointing a finger at Matt.  “And so you _do_ know!”

“You know better than anyone that client-lawyer privilege means that I have a legal and ethical responsibility to keep that information private,” Matt deadpanned.

“She’s my client too!”

They both laughed.  The light changed and the crosswalk beeped at them to continue.  As the two crossed the street to the other side, Matt suddenly stumbled forward, catching his foot on the curb.  Foggy caught him by the shoulder and balanced him before he could fall flat on his face.

“What was that!  Did you just trip?”  Foggy dragged him over near the edge of a building so they wouldn’t block the sidewalk as people streamed past.  Foggy put one hand on Matt's shoulder and stared at him.  “You can probably notice, but I want you to be sure.  I am glaring at you right now. I thought you couldn’t trip.”

“I, uh, may be having a bit of trouble with my senses lately,” Matt said quietly, adjusting his glasses to sit even on his face.  “It was that concussion from last week.  It’s still causing problems with my balance.”

“What?  Tell me these things!”

“I didn’t think it would be a problem.”  Matt clenched the top of his cane with his hands.

“That guy nearly brained you last week.  Of course it would be a problem.  You are so stubborn and stupid!”  Foggy raised his hand as if to hit him, and then sighed, glared some more, and flicked Matt on the forehead with his index finger.

“Ow!  What was that for?”

“Yeah, like that hurt.  Just, if you need help, say something, but no, I’m Matt Murdock, and I’m a Catholic masochist, but not in the hot way.”  

“Foggy-”

Foggy grabbed Matt’s left hand, raised it into the air, shook it slightly, and then placed it on his own right arm.  Matt gripped Foggy’s arm lightly, uncertain.  Foggy then wordlessly walked back into the crowd along the sidewalk, leading Matt, who said nothing and continued to walk, tapping his cane with his right hand.  Foggy hadn’t offered to lead Matt since he’d found out his secret months ago.

“Thanks,” Matt finally said, quietly, after they’d walked a block in silence, uneasy at pushing the boundaries of their friendship, boundaries they were still reestablishing.

“This is helping, right?”

“Yeah.  It’s, relaxing?  I don’t have to focus as much.”

“Good.  I need your brain sharp for our afternoon in court today.  Now let’s find that sandwich shop.”  

They continued to walk down the sidewalk, making small talk, mostly about their current case. For once, it was straightforward.  A local family’s apartment room had been damaged in a fire, and the insurance company was trying to not fork over the money promised in the insurance contract.  

Matt let his senses take in the city without trying to find meaning in everything.  He knew Foggy wouldn’t steer him wrong.  The daylight was bright and the weather warm for New York on a late September day.  The unformed smells of the city made Matt hungry as they passed multiple hotdog vendors and restaurants.  Nearby, a loud jackhammer caused him to wince.  Hell’s Kitchen always had some ongoing construction project, especially leading up to winter before the ground froze.

They continued at a brisk pace, passing office buildings and a library, as the crowds grew larger while people exited their buildings to go to lunch.

“So I was thinking, when we win this case, it might be worth it to reach out to other apartment buildings that use the same insurance company.  Give them our cards in case this comes up again,” Foggy said, and Matt could feel him shrug.  “You never know.  Plus, it’s a cheap way to advertise.”

“You’re right, we can have Karen send out letters, or we can go door-to-door with her over the weekend.”

They continued talking case strategy as a growing, pervasive sense of unease settled into the pit of Matt’s stomach.  The day was beautiful.  There was no reason to feel worried.  And yet he felt like he was missing something.  “Foggy-” Matt said, interrupting him as they continued to walk.  “Does something seem, I don’t know, off to you?  Look around in the crowd.  Do you see anything strange, out of place?”

“No?  Should I?”

“Maybe.”

The friends stopped at another crosswalk at the intersection of two major roads.  Throngs of people waited with them or were crossing on the perpendicular side.  Matt exhaled slowly and expanded his senses, even as his head ached.  

Next to them, a woman held the hand of her young daughter, wearing dresses made of the same bolt of fabric.  The mom was laughing as the girl asked if they could get a second helping of ice cream.  Behind, a man sat on a bench and shook his cup to ask for spare change.  A taxi driver across the street cussed out a man who had walked out in front of his car.  Two storefronts over, a bar was empty except for the familiar sounds of a few regulars playing pool.  

And - _there_ \- about half a block away, a man ran down the street.  Each jagged breath revealed an internal injury and his heart beat wildly.  Terrified, he was sweating and smelled of oil, gasoline, and blood.  His jacket was torn and fluttered as he ran.

Before Matt could react, a car sped by with a screech of tires, the vibrations from the engine revealing that the windshield was made of bulletproof glass.  The car’s windows were down and two men pointed automatic guns at the man and into the crowd.

Matt shouted, “Get down!” just as the loud, banging staccato gunfire followed the running man down the street.  The men in the car started firing about half a block before Matt’s position.  Matt dropped his cane, jumped forward in front of Foggy, somersaulted on the concrete, and grabbed a trashcan lid left on the ground.  He rose and threw the metal lid in one smooth motion at the car, hitting one of the gunmen on the hands. The criminal dropped the gun, which hit the ground and skidded on the asphalt.  The other gunman kept firing at the running man.  The car then turned the corner and was out of sight in just a few seconds.

 _No_ , Matt thought.  A million pieces of information hit his mind all at once.  The target was on the ground, now just a few yards away, heart no longer beating.  Hit by either bullets or injured by the stampede that had started to form, others moaned or screamed in pain all around.  Smoke drifted off of two cars that had slammed into each other during the attack.   A million things, and for a moment Matt could hear and sense nothing as his heart beat too loudly and a rushing noise overwhelmed his mind.

And then everything crystallized.  The little girl in a dress was sprawled out on the ground, stunned, after being pushed down.  An overwhelming sense of copper, that unmistakable scent of blood, mixed with the scent of burning flesh where the bullet had entered but not exited the man laying over her, protecting the girl with his body.  

“Foggy!”  Matt yelled, running to his friend and dropping to his knees.  He gently lifted Foggy up as the mother of the girl screamed at the blood and lifted her daughter from beneath him.  

“Honey!  Are you okay?  Are you hurt?”  The girl began sobbing and clung to her mom’s neck.  Matt’s attention only had room for Foggy.  His friend’s blood overwhelmed him, and Matt tried to not get sucked into the pain and grief coming from all around.  

“Call 911,” Matt said to the woman without looking at her, voice as steady as his hands.  “I need you to call an ambulance now.  Can you do that for me?  For all of us?”

“Yes!  Of course,” the mother said, and Matt only listened long enough to hear her connect with 911.  He then tried to tune out everything except the cars on the street.  And Foggy.  

Matt gently lowered Foggy back onto the ground, and darted his hands up and down his friend’s back and legs to find the injury.  One bullet on the right side of Foggy’s chest had entered from the back and lodged somewhere near the rib cage.  Blood gushed out of the wound with each heartbeat, which was already fainter than Matt had ever heard it.  

“Foggy, I need you to stay with me.  I know it will hurt like hell to wake up, but you need to wake up.  Talk to me, buddy.”  

Matt could sense the damage inside his friend’s chest.  The bullet had at least nicked if not torn the lung.  Foggy gave quiet, gasping breaths and Matt heard air escape from the gaping wound.  The bullet had ripped a hole in Foggy’s clothing, and Matt gently placed his fingers on the edges, grasping the suit, dress shirt, and undershirt beneath, and tore the cloth apart further.  Matt then loosened his own tie and pulled it off.  He then placed it over the hole, and used both hands to push down hard and create a seal around the wound.  Foggy, still laying unconscious on his stomach, didn’t even flinch.

“Just keep breathing, Foggy.  The ambulance is going to be here any second.  You have to stay with me, alright?  You’ve got the easy part, all you have to do is stay alive and keep going.  I’m the one working hard here.  Just like at Columbia.”

No response as Matt kept track of each breath:  in, out, in, out.  Matt continued to push his hands flat and firm on Foggy’s back, trying to bite back the panic.  Blood seeped out between his fingers and around the edges of his palms.  “Please, Foggy.  You have to stay with me.”

Seconds stretched into minutes.  Matt sent up a litany of silent prayers.  He lifted his hands for just a second to readjust and wiped his hands on his shirt to clear off some of the blood.  But it was no use, the tie was soaked and a puddle of blood was running down Foggy’s back and dripping into the concrete.  There was no one to fight, no one to punch, just ragged breathing, a slowing heart beat, and praying to God that Foggy could beat this.

Finally, Matt heard sirens in the distance, about four blocks away and fast approaching.  “You hear that?  You’re going to be alright.  I just need you to keep breathing.  In, there you go.  Now out.  Again.  Keep going.”

The ambulances were still two blocks away when Matt felt something shift within Foggy. The tension in his body slowly loosened and he gave one last, hoarse breath, and then stopped.  Matt’s own heartbeat drummed so loud that his entire world became a narrow point of focus; the dull, irregular heartbeat of his best friend.  Matt choked down bile.

“Oh God.  Foggy!” he yelled.  “No, no, no, no.  Don’t leave me, damn it!”  Matt was too afraid to move his hands to try CPR, so he continued to push down hard on the wound.  “You can’t do this, damn it.  You can’t die on me.  Don’t you dare die on me.  We have too much to do.  You’d break Karen’s heart.  Even Marci would be upset, and we didn’t even think she had a heart, remember?”  Matt gave a panicked laugh, and clenched his fingers around the tie soaked with Foggy’s blood.  

“Please God, not him.  Not him, too.”  

Three ambulances pulled up to the scene, sirens blaring, and the backs of the doors opened as EMTs rushed out into the crowd.

“Help!” Matt yelled, voice hoarse.  “Help!  I need help over here!  My friend has stopped breathing!”  

Two paramedics ran toward him with bags full of medical equipment, one a man, the other a woman.  In seconds they were on the ground with Matt.  “We can take it from here,” the woman said, placing her gloved hands over his.  “We switch pressure on three.  One, two, three.”  Matt slid his hands away from Foggy as she pushed down.  

“He.  He, uh, he has just one bullet.  Entered from the back, hit at least his lung if not more, and it’s still in there somewhere.  It’s a sucking chest wound.  He stopped breathing about one minute ago.  He’s been unconscious since he was hit, which was about, uh, six, seven minutes ago?  He’s lost a lot of blood.  His bloodtype is AB.”  

“You’ve done good,” the woman said, keeping her hands placed firmly on Foggy’s back.  Her partner placed a breathing mask around Foggy’s face and began compressing and releasing the plastic attachment to force air into his lungs.  Matt backed away and stood up as two more paramedics rushed forward with a gurney, his head angled down to listen as they worked to save Foggy’s life.  He heard three police cars and two more ambulances arrive.  

Together, the paramedics continued to breathe for Foggy and placed a plastic bandage over the wound while inserting an IV into his arm.  Matt listened to their calm, rapid medical talk that was beyond his understanding, even after his first aid lessons from Claire.  On the count of three, they lifted Foggy into the gurney and ran him to the ambulance.  Matt followed and ran with them, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t aware of his surroundings.  The team loaded the ambulance and Matt was about to jump in until one of the four came back out and placed a hand on his chest.

The man, about Matt’s height and smelling of antiseptic and blood, shook his head.  “Sir, they’re going to need all the room in the van to move around while they work on him.”

“But I need to go with him!”  Matt tried to move past but the man held firm.  The ambulance’s doors shut with a loud snap and the vehicle began to pull out, sirens piercing the air and Matt’s patience.  “I’m his best friend!”

“And he is in good hands and we will get you to the hospital as soon as we can.  Now step back.”  The paramedic took Matt’s arm and led him to a small brick retaining wall around a tree in the sidewalk, and sat him down.  Matt suddenly felt weak, ill, like he could throw up any second.

“What’s your name?  Are you injured?  Your eyes don’t seem to focus.  Are you able to see?”

“My name.  Uh,” Matt took a breath tried to calm himself as he opened and clinched his fists over and over.  “My name is Matt.  I’m fine, I’m blind.  My glasses must have fallen off, and I dropped my cane.”

“Alright, Matt.  Well my name is John.  We’ll find those for you.  But first, are you hurt?”

Another medical worker walked up to them and gently wrapped a blanket around Matt’s shoulders.  The fabric was soft, and warm, but the world still felt like it was spinning, and his head ached now that the adrenaline was wearing off.  “I’m fine.  Now please, take me to the hospital.”

“We will as soon as we get the other gunshot victims there.  This is my friend, Sam, and we’re going to take care of you.  Give us 10 minutes and we’ll have you on the way.”  Matt gave a ragged sigh and started to raise his hands to his face, but John caught both of his wrists and lowered them, holding one carefully to check the pulse.  

“I’m fine.  What are you doing?  I just - I have to get to Foggy.  He could-” Matt didn’t finish the sentence and tried to pull away, but the paramedic held onto his wrists.

“You might feel fine, but you look like you’re going into shock.  And you’re covered in blood.  Are you sure any of that isn’t yours?”  John let go of Matt’s wrists and grabbed a packet from his pocket and tore out a wet wipe.  He began to rub at Matt’s hands with the cleaning material.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m just cleaning your hands off.  It’s no problem, just concentrate on breathing.”

“I’m not going into shock.  I’m used to this, this kind of thing.”  Matt scrunched his eyes and shook his head.  “This is ridiculous.”  He stood and nearly fell forward, and John caught him while Sam gently lowered him back into a sitting position.

“Well that’s not something I want to hear.  But even if you’re used to combat zones, letalone shootouts, it’s different when it’s your friend.  I do this every day, and when I had to help my mom through a heart attack, I had a panic attack after I got her to the hospital.  The important thing is that you took care of your friend until we got here.”

John began to gently run his hands up and down Matt’s chest, stomach, and back, pressing certain points to check for injuries, while Sam rubbed soothing circles on his back.  Matt gasped for breath and tried to swallow the rising lump of panic in his throat, but he began to breathe in shorter and shorter intervals, hyperventilating.   _Foggy could already be dead_ , he thought, and the panic surged.

And somewhere in his heart, a deadly sense of rage rose above all else and settled over him.  

Finally Matt closed his eyes and stilled, reaching that center of calm that he had achieved countless times before through meditation.  He tuned out the paramedics, the sirens, the hundreds of people gathering at the scene.  The overwhelming smell of blood.  The feeling of Foggy’s blood all over the front of his shirt, already drying and sticking to his skin.  Matt found silence for just a moment, and unmeasured time passed as he slowed his breathing and heartbeat back to normal.  Then he opened his eyes and let the world back in.

“Matt, you still with us?” John asked.  “That was pretty impressive.”

“Yes, yes I’m here.  I’m fine now.  Thank you.  Now take me to the hospital.”  Matt stood and the blanket slid off his shoulders.  

“Sir, I’m really not sure you should be standing right now,” Sam said.

Matt looked up and to the left just as Sergeant Brett Mahoney walked by, hand resting on his gun with his attention turned warily to the street, scanning the road for any more danger.  He stopped in his tracks when he noticed Matt.  “Murdock?  Shit, are you okay, man?”

“Can you drive me to the hospital?”

“Are you bleeding?  Your whole shirt is covered!”

“It’s Foggy’s blood.  He’s been shot.  I need to get to the hospital now.”  

Matt felt Brett’s heart rate spike.  “What?  How bad?”

“Bad.  Get me to the hospital.”  

“Alright.  I’ve got this one from here,” Brett told the paramedics.  Sam started to protest, but John butted in. “Just make sure you watch him carefully.  He could still go into shock.  Get Matt checked out in the ER as soon as you get there.”

“I will,” Brett promised, as Matt grabbed Brett’s arm and said, “Lead the way.  Hurry.”  

Together, they ran to Brett’s car as the police officer held up his radio to his face and gave the dispatchers an update. “Shit’s a mess here, we need more men ASAP.  I’m bringing one of the injured to the hospital and I’ll tell you when I’m done.”

They reached the car in seconds, and in even fewer Brett already had the sirens on and was speeding down the road.  Matt pressed his face against the cool glass of the passenger door’s window and tried to clear his mind, but all he could sense was the smell of Foggy’s blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More chapters to come! I hope you enjoyed this first one. Feedback is extremely valued. I feel like I've gotten Foggy's voice down, but I'm still struggling with Matt's, so especially let me know if you have any suggestions there.  
> More characters (ie. all of them, including the Nelson family) will soon be making an appearance. I'll add them to the tags as they appear.  
> The warning for Graphic Depictions of Violence will come into play later in the fic.  
> I'm hoping to post at least a chapter a week, if not more often. We'll see if I can stick to that schedule, though.


	2. Chapter 2

Brett led the way into Metro General’s emergency room, Matt holding onto his elbow in a death grip.  The two rushed through the double-door entrance into an uneasy, crowded waiting room.  The TV on one wall was turned to the news and an anchor described the shooting.  “Chaos today in Hell’s Kitchen as at least one gunman opened fire into a crowd, injuring multiple people.  Reports are still coming in, but at least one person is confirmed dead…”

Matt and Brett walked straight to the reception desk.  The woman there put down her papers as she saw the two approach.  “Sir, are you bleeding?” she asked, alarmed.

Before Matt could answer, Brett jumped in.  “No ma’am, that’s someone else’s blood.  Our friend was taken here.  He’s been shot.  The name is Foggy Nelson.”

“Franklin Nelson, Foggy is a nickname,” Matt said, breathless.  “Shot in the back, punctured lung.  Wearing a suit.  How is he?  Can we see him?”

“What is your relation?”

“I’m his best friend and business partner.  We’re family.  Please.”  The woman nodded, taking in the two’s appearance and, Matt was sure, Brett’s police uniform.  She turned around and called out to one of the other hospital employees behind the kiosk.  “Kiana, I need you to take the front desk as I check on a patient.”  She turned back to face Matt and Brett.  “I’ll check on him right away.  Please just wait here.”

Brett guided Matt away from the counter and the two stood off to the side as more people approached to ask for help.  Matt tilted his head toward the reception desk and listened.  

Too much noise.  Too many people.  Too many electronics beeping and whirring and adding to the cacophony.  Matt strained to hear through the large doors and walls that blocked off the waiting room from the rest of the ER.  It took all his concentration to sense the woman and separate her from the many voices, some calm and some in pain, and from the antiseptic and blood and the cotton scent of fresh gauze.  Dozens of people moved about in a controlled hurry, and she quickly weaved her way through as an ambulance arrived in the bay side of the ER and doctors and nurses rushed to greet the injured.  

She paused in front of a group of people gathered over a single bed, their movements controlled but hurried.   _Foggy_ , Matt realized, unable to sense anything that proved his assumption.  The smells and sounds of the hospital covered everything unique about his friend.  But he heard the woman say “Nelson” and then, faintly, quieter than he had ever heard it, Matt heard the slow thump of Foggy’s familiar heartbeat.   

Matt let out a slow exhale and reached out to the wall behind him, and leaned back into it while sliding down to the ground.

“Hey, Murdock?  Murdock?  You there?”  Brett snapped his fingers in front of Matt’s face.  

“What, yes?  Yeah.”  He stood up.

Brett whistled.  “Murdock, are you sure you don’t need to see anyone?  You look terrible, and you zoned out there for a few seconds.  You haven’t heard a word of what I’ve been saying.”

“I’m fine, like I told you.  Just, trying to make sense of it all.”  He gestured toward the people sitting in the waiting room.   “And it sounds like they don’t need another patient right now.” Brett gave a short “hm” in response.

_His heart is still beating, his heart is still beating_ , Matt thought over and over again.

It was only that thought that anchored him as the woman returned to the reception desk.   “Sergeant…” She looked to Brett’s uniform, “Mahoney.  And-”

“Murdock.  Matthew Murdock.”

“Please come with me.”  

She lifted a section of the counter and walked out to meet them, then led the way past part of the crowd through a nearby door into a smaller, quieter waiting room, with only a handful of people off to the side, talking quietly.  

Once they were through the door, she turned to face them.  “I’ve confirmed his identity with the driver’s license in his wallet.  Your friend is alive-” Brett gave a quiet ‘Thank God’ and briefly grasped Matt on the shoulder. “But he’s in serious condition.  The doctors are prepping him for surgery as we speak. The bullet damaged his lung and we won’t know what else it’s damaged until the surgery begins.”

Matt held out his hand as if for a handshake, and she took it.  “Thank you,” he said, his gentle squeeze betraying the tremors in his arm.  

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” she said, voice kind, “but Dr. Gupta is a top surgeon, and his team is excellent.  The best thing both of you can do right now is head to the surgery waiting room and wait there, and check in with the front desk and tell them who you are.  I’d normally have someone accompany you, but we’re short staffed and more people are pouring into the ER.”  

“We can get there ourselves, ma’am, we’ll follow the signs,” Brett said.

“Alright,” she said.  “I need to get back.  Don’t be afraid to reach out to the receptionists in the waiting room if you have any questions or need any help.”  She rushed back through the door and into the main ER.  Both Matt and Brett heard shouts as a new person ran into the waiting room yelling, “Help, he’s been shot!  He’s in my car, quick!”

“This is crazy,” Brett said.  “I’m going to get you to the waiting room and then I need to get back out there.”

“Of course,” Matt said.  “Let’s go.”

Matt held loosely onto Brett’s elbow as they walked in silence to the surgery waiting room.  When they reached the room, Matt took it all in. The room was large.  Families and friends crowded in little pockets around chairs and tables.  Some spoke in soft whispers with fear lacing every word.  Others chatted calmly as they waited for their loved one to finish a relatively common procedure.  And others waited in silence.  

Matt let Brett lead him to a chair, and extended his hands until he found the plastic arm rests and lowered himself down.  Dully, he heard Brett talk to the receptionist and explain who they were waiting for.  She promised to keep him updated.  Brett then dropped his voice to a whisper.

“And the man there, Matt, look out for him, okay?  I think he’s fine but he was there and, well, he was there when our friend was shot and was with him until the ambulance arrived.  He’s not the kind to ask for help, you know?  So if he starts, I don’t know, freaking out or falling asleep or anything, check on him?”

Matt tuned out the answer and tried to extend his senses again to find Foggy.  He couldn’t, the ambient noises and smells of the hospital were too strong.  A pounding headache focused into a sharp stab behind his eyes, and he hissed in pain.  He raised his hand up slowly to touch his face and then put it back down just as Brett returned.

“There’s a woman by the desk.  Her name is Janice Smith and she’s a PA and said she would keep you updated during the surgery.”  Matt nodded.

“Alright, I’m off then,” Brett continued.  “Can’t leave all this to the rookies.”  He paused and tried to find the right words.  “Do you want me to call Mrs. Nelson?”

“No,” Matt said immediately.  “I’ll - I need to do it.”

“Alright.  You going to call anyone to be here with you?  You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’ll call friends.  I’m fine, you’ve done more than enough.  Get out there and catch whoever did this.”

Matt held out his right hand and Brett grabbed it, and they shook hands.  

“He’s going to be okay.  Foggy’s a fighter.”

“I know. Thank you, for doing this.”

“Just don’t tell Foggy I said that when he wakes up.  He’ll try to play that soft heart bullshit on me again.”

“Stay safe out there.”

“You too.”  Brett walked out at a brisk pace, and Matt listened as he radioed in his location and dispatch gave him instructions on where to head next.  And then Matt let out a slow breath and tried to ease the tension in his head and rein in his senses.  

Matt fumbled with his suit jacket’s pocket and then pulled out the phone, holding it in his hands until his knuckles ached.  He then pressed a button and the phone spoke the time:  1:17.  Foggy had been shot less than an hour ago.  He tried once more to sense for Foggy in one of the nearby surgery rooms, but the headache came back sharper than before, and Matt limited himself back to just the waiting room.  

Matt shut his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, listening to the clock.  He then bowed his head and rested his head in hands, the cold phone pressing into his face. Just then, his phone began chirping, “Karen, Karen, Karen.”  He paused, and just before it would have reached voicemail, he answered.

“Matt!”  Karen’s voice was cheerful, and his gut twisted.  “Hi.  Sorry to bother you on a day in court, but Foggy’s not picking up.  And, I know this is silly, but I heard about the shooting and just wanted to make sure you two were okay.  It’s not like it was at the courthouse, I know, but, you know.  I’m a worryer.”

Matt opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Matt?  Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

A pause.  “Matt?”  Karen’s voice again, but quieter.  “Matt, is everything alright?”

He gave a strangled, “No,” willing his voice to stay steady and failing.  It all came out in a rush.  “It’s Foggy, Karen.  He’s been shot.  It’s bad.  They’re taking him to surgery now.  I’m in the waiting room at Metro General.  He’s… it’s bad.  The bullet punctured his lung.”  The faintest sound of something hitting the floor came through the phone.  Matt could imagine her standing at her desk, the phone cradled on one shoulder, folders in both hands sliding to the ground.  

“Oh my God.  Oh my God.  I’m - I’m coming over right now.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.”  

“Wait, Karen.  Before you come, I need you to do something for me.  Look at Foggy’s address book.  It’s on his desk.  I need his mother’s phone number.”

“Oh.  God, of course, give me one second.”

Matt listened to her place the phone down onto the desk.  He waited, and she returned in just a few moments.  He could hear the rustle of paper as she flipped through the book.

“I have it.”  She read off the number to him, and he committed it to memory.

“Thank you.  And, Karen.  I have a change of clothes and a spare cane in my office.  Could you bring those to me?”

“Yes, of course, anything you need.  Wait, are you hurt too?”

“No, I’m fine.  I just… I have… I need to change my shirt.”

“What-”

“Just, get here as soon as you can.  I- Stay safe out there, please.  Be careful.”

“I will.  I’ll be right there.  Hang on.”

The phone clicked off and Matt let out a ragged sigh, and then used the vocal commands on his phone to verbally dial Foggy’s mom.  The phone rang six times before finally transferring to voicemail.

“Hello.  You’ve reached Rosalind Nelson,” a cheery voice said.  “Please leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

The phone beeped, and Matt somehow managed to keep his voice steady this time, albeit rough.  “Mrs. Nelson.  It’s Matt.  I- I need you to call me as soon as you get this. It’s an emergency.  Foggy’s… he’s been hurt.  I’m at Metro General.  Please, call me when you get this.”  He hung up, afraid of saying more.  

Matt shoved his phone back in his pocket.  He clasped both hands in front of him, pressing them together hard while resting his elbows on his knees, bowing his head.  And he did the only things he could do; he prayed, and waited.  

* * *

Matt noticed Karen when she was still down the hallway.  Her familiar gait, mixed with her newest honeysuckle shampoo from the bodega down the road from the office, was unmistakable.  He could hear her crying, but she straightened her posture and composed herself before turning the corner into the waiting room.

At the frenzied click of Karen’s heels, Matt finally lifted his head in her direction.  She noticed him immediately and ran over, stopping a few feet in front of where he was seated.  He faced her as she approached, eyes focused on the wall behind her.  

“Matt.”

Matt stood and Karen took in the sight before her.  Dried blood covered the knees of his pants and the front of his dress shirt, the collar loose enough for her to see the small gold cross worn underneath.  He clenched and unclenched the ends of his suit jacket, bunching up the fabric into his fists.  Without the glasses, Karen could see the remnants of a black eye.  And the expression on his face.  

Karen let the bag drop from her shoulders to the ground and she walked slowly toward him.  She gently plucked at the fabric at the front of his shirt.  “Is that-”  Matt gave a slight nod.

“Oh my God, Matt,” Karen said, and wrapped him in a hug.  At first he stood there, stiff, unmoving. And then his arms raised around her back and he buried his head in her shoulder.

“Karen…” he said, and let out a strangled sound, caught somewhere between a yell and a sob.

“It’s okay.  I’m here.  Foggy’s going to be okay.  He’s going to be okay.”  She rubbed his back and kept making promises she couldn’t guarantee.  His tears fell into her hair but he didn’t make another sound.  At first his whole body shook in her arms, but over time he stilled, and Karen wondered if that was because he was calming down or tensing to the point of breaking.

Finally, they broke apart and she grasped Matt by the shoulders and guided him back to the chair and sat down next to him.  Karen took a pair of glasses out of her purse and handed them to Matt.  He put them on wordlessly.  She then took a collapsed walking cane from her bag and handed it to Matt, who snapped it into place and tapped it on the floor once.  He held onto the top of the cane’s grip as if it was a lifeline rather than a prop.

“What happened?” Karen asked.  

The story poured out quickly as Matt clenched and unclenched his cane.  Karen held it together through the story, sometimes putting her hand to her mouth, other times wiping away silent tears quickly falling down her cheeks.  

“Of course Foggy would go be the hero like that.”  Karen gave a short, pained laugh.  “Matt, listen to me.  You did everything you could, and then some.”  She took his hands in hers, and he rested the cane against his knee.  “You saved his life.  And now we just have to wait and trust the doctors.  This is a good hospital.”

“I know.”

Karen then turned to look at the two people approaching before Matt had even noticed the man and woman.  The woman from before, Janice, walked toward them.  Beside her, the rustle of the man’s clothing meant he was wearing full scrubs, including a hat blocking his hair.   “Matthew Murdock?” he asked.  

Matt nodded sharply once, and stood.  “And this is Karen Page, a friend,” Matt said, gesturing toward her.  She stood with him and laced her fingers with Matt’s.

“It’s good to meet you both.  My name is Dustin Johnson, and I’m one of the nurses working with Mr. Nelson.  I just wanted to give you an update now that we’re an hour into the surgery.  May I sit down?”

“Of course,” Matt said, and the group sat down together, Dustin and Janice across from Matt and Karen.  The nurse leaned forward and projected a calm learned through years of experience.

“Your friend is fighting hard right now,” he started, speaking with a slow, practiced tone.  “He didn’t regain consciousness during any of the time he was in the ER before being taken to surgery, but his heart has been going as strong as can be hoped for.  I want to be realistic with you right now.”  Karen squeezed Matt’s hand hard.  “Mr. Nelson is young and has a lot of things going for him.  That being said, his injuries are extremely serious.”

“The bullet entered through the right side of his back, pierced the lung, and lodged itself between two ribs.  Overall, the lung damage is severe but reparable.  What’s even more worrying is where the bullet traveled.  It came in at an angle and settled near the heart cavity.  The swelling and trauma around that area could affect blood flow function.  That kind of trauma can be fatal.”

“We also know that he went some period of time without breathing.  We don’t think his brain went long enough without oxygen to cause damage, but we also won’t be sure until he wakes up and we can assess his cognitive function.”

“Dr. Gupta is working on repairing the physical trauma and we expect the surgery to take at least another five hours.  We have a crack team of surgeons on Dr. Gupta’s team.  These people are experienced in gunshot trauma and Mr. Nelson couldn’t be in better hands.  When your friend is out of surgery, we will intubate him with a breathing tube until we’re sure his lungs can handle breathing on their own.  We’ll give you updates throughout this process as we know more and complete different steps of the surgery.   Do you have any questions?”

Matt and Karen paused, and she waited for Matt to start.  “Yes, uh-”  Matt bit down on his bottom lip before continuing. “What are his chances?  I know you can’t be sure, but do you have any idea?”

Dustin sighed and leaned back in the chair.  “I just don’t know right now.  I’d say better than a 50/50 shot on the surgery, but recovery can be complicated.  Intubation runs the risk of pneumonia.  Sometimes people with this kind of trauma seem fine and then take a bad turn the next day.  If he can get through the surgery and the next two days, his chances for recovery improve drastically. But we won’t know more until he’s stable.”

“I understand.  Thank you,” Matt said.  

“Do you have any questions?” Dustin asked Karen.  She let go of Matt’s hand and crossed her arms.

“No, no I think you’ve answered everything.”

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” Janice said.  “Also, Matthew, how are you feeling?  Would you like a change of clothes?”

Karen held up the bag.  “It’s okay, I brought some.  And, thank you, thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.  I’ll let you know immediately if anything changes.”  Dustin stood and nodded at them both before turning around and walking back through the doors to surgery.  Janice followed behind.

Karen watched them walk away, then suddenly blurted out, “He, um, he nodded, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Matt said quietly.

Then, “Uh, here.” Karen handed Matt the bag.  

“Thanks.”  He took off his suit jacket and left it on the chair.  “Will you be alright by yourself for a few minutes?”

“Yeah, of course.  Please, change, I can’t keep looking at all that-”

She trailed off and Matt walked away before she finished the sentence.  Though he didn’t need the motion, just the sound of the cane tapping on the floor was comforting, a familiar noise that helped him focus on anything but the noises of suffering in the surrounding hospital.  He made his way to a public restroom two hallways over, thankfully empty.

Matt walked into the handicap stall at the end and dropped the bag onto the floor.  Once he was alone in the stall, he pulled his shirt off in one motion, popping some of the buttons.  Even dry, the smell of blood was sickening, and too familiar.  He pulled on the new shirt and buttoned it to the top button and held his cross for a moment before tucking it underneath.  Next he changed his pants, and then buried the bloody clothes into the empty bag.  

He slung the bag over one shoulder and washed his hands at the sink out of habit.  He turned off the water and faced the mirror.  The flat, unreadable surface stared back, telling him nothing.  The smell of blood lingered and he washed his hands again, scrubbing hard, this time trying to dig beneath his fingernails.  He was on his fourth wash when the door opened and someone else entered the bathroom.  Matt finally grabbed some paper towels and walked out.

When he returned to the waiting room, Karen was on his phone.  “Mrs. Nelson, Matt just got back. He can tell you more, here he is.”

Matt wordlessly held out his hand, and Karen placed the phone in it.

“Matthew?”

“Mrs. Nelson.”  Hearing her voice brought back to mind dozens of family dinners.  He could smell her Christmas ham, nearly taste her apple pie.

“Oh Matthew.  How is he?  Karen told me what happened.  I’m on my way right now in a cab but I’m on the other side of the city.  It’s going to take me at least an hour to get there.”

“He’s in surgery right now.  The nurse said it’s going to last at least another 5 hours.”

“Oh, oh that’s long.”

“He’s a fighter, Mrs. Nelson.”  But the words felt empty, even to Matt.

“You don’t have to tell me.  And of course he got hurt saving a little girl. That’s our Foggy, isn’t it?  The hero.  I guess you’re even now.”

A slight smile pulled at his lips.  “I’m sure he’ll regale us in great detail once-” Matt cleared his throat. “Once he’s out of surgery and awake.”

“I’m going to call the rest of the family.”

“I could, if you want, if you want to give me their numbers.”

“No, I need, I need something to do in this cab.  I can’t just wait around.”  

“We’ll call you as soon as we hear anything.”

“Thank you.”

She hung up, but not before Matt heard a slight sob from the other end of the phone.

“She sounds like a strong woman,” Karen said as Matt sat down next to her and ran his fingers through his hair.  He pulled his suit jacket back on.

“She is.”  

They sat in silence together, both facing the reception desk, shoulders touching.  Karen twisted some tissue in her hands into pieces while Matt sat perfectly still, holding the top of the cane in a death grip.

And they waited.

* * *

Minutes stretched into hours.  Vincent, Foggy’s cousin with the drywall company, got there first, the smell of plaster clinging to his clothing and skin.  Mrs. Nelson arrived half an hour later to tearful hugs.  Their group grew to six as two of Foggy’s aunts arrived.  The afternoon stretched on and the waiting turned into a vigil.  Hushed calls continued throughout to and from more friends and family and clients that had become like family. Karen called Marci, leaving an urgent message at the office, but she was in London on a business trip.

Matt’s shoulders slumped as he sat silently in the chair, mind numb to everything but a mixture of fear and panic.  His fight or flight sense, really just fight, had evaporated hours ago.  There was nothing to do, just hope and pray and wait.  Every time a medical person walked toward them he had to bite back panic and bile.  The soft whispers of friends and family added to the pounding headache behind his eyes and it was a constant effort to only sense the small group of people nearby.  Eventually Karen handed him a packet of crackers, Tylenol, and a bottle of water, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.  

When the surgeon came out to meet them, Mrs. Nelson linked her arm with Matt’s as they listened to the news.  Dr. Gupta talked about severe damage and blood loss, trauma and risk factors, and Matt’s mind couldn’t let go of phrases like “lucky to be alive” and then “We’ll know more if he can survive the next 24 hours.”  Then finally:  “You can visit him in the ICU two at a time.”

Though an oppressive inertia nearly held his feet to the ground, Matt soon found himself walking down the hallway with Mrs. Nelson, her arm still linked with his for support, and to guide him as he collapsed his walking stick and tucked it under his arm.  The two silently walked together as the nurse, Dustin, led them through the large doors separating the rest of the hospital from the ICU.

Dustin brought them to a room in the middle of the ICU with its door wide open so that the nearby nurses and doctors could easily monitor him.  Matt reached out to sense Foggy, but it wasn’t until he crossed the threshold of the doorway that he understood what he was sensing.

Mrs. Nelson let out a sob and then clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to hold it in.  He felt her shake and then she broke apart to approach the bed.

Matt tried to focus on the steady sound of the heart monitor, but other details overwhelmed his attention:  how much cooler Foggy’s body temperature was than it should be, the way the stitches on his back stretched and shifted with each breath, and the foreign smells of the hospital that covered up everything familiar, from Foggy’s aftershave to the lingering cigarette smoke from Josie’s.

And the click, hiss, whine of the ventilator, laboring methodically to do what Foggy could not.

Mrs. Nelson reached out to grab her son’s hand, and paused.  “Is there, where can I touch him?  That won’t hurt him?”

“You can hold his hand,” Dustin said quietly.  “The one without the IV.”

She picked up his hand as if it was made of glass and held on gently.  Dustin grabbed a chair and she sank into it, crying.  “Oh, my boy, my boy.”

Matt didn’t move but took in every detail, searing it into his memory.  The bandages on Foggy’s back that were already wet with blood.  The sway of the IV chord that hung in the air.  And, more than anything, that unnatural stillness.  Even when Foggy was asleep, he always moved in a way that revealed his gregarious and friendly nature.  

But here Foggy was still, unmoving, except for the machine that breathed for him.

And though Matt hadn’t seen color for years, not since his father’s face and the blue sky had disappeared into blackness, for just a moment he swore he could see red. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are the BEST. I have been overwhelmed and giddy with all the comments and the kudos you have given this story so far. Each and every one has meant the world to me. THANK YOU!!  
> It took me this long to post the next chapter in large part because I've been also planning out the overall plot. This will be a very multi-chapter fic that will delve into a plot that hinges around Foggy and Matt's friendship. Infinite thanks to two of my friends who came up with way better plot ideas than the ones I had going into this and helped me flesh out where this is going.   
> I hope you've enjoyed this next chapter! No promises, but let me know if there are any scenes or anything you'd like to see explored in this fic - I'm definitely up for suggestions.


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